


The Golden Rule

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Mystrade Story Times [18]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: ACD - Freeform, Chubby Mycroft, Friendship, Gen, Mycroft POV, Mycroft is a drama queen in any place and time, Mystrade Story Time, Originally posted to Twitter, Post-The Reichenbach Falls, Sherlock Lives, So canonically major character death, TAB-ish, The Diogenes Club, The Strangers Room, but as we all know in both 'verses, do not copy to another site, first person POV, restricted to Archive user
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:54:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: In the wake of his brother's death abroad, Mycroft Holmes cannot seem to find a moment's peace. At his eccentric gentleman's club, The Diogenes, he hopes to find some restful silence. Even there he is bound to be interrupted. However, his unexpected visitor brings with him an unexpected respite.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Inspector Lestrade
Series: Mystrade Story Times [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1335472
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43
Collections: Mystrade StoryTime





	The Golden Rule

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Twitter for Mystrade Story Times (follow me @savvyblunders)  
Minor edits to accommodate limitation of the twitter character restriction *shakes fist*

Please, let no one speak to me. Observe, all ye great gentlemen of England, all ye fair lads, the Golden Rule. Not "do unto others." Oh no, I refer to the Golden Rule of Silence. Within these hallowed halls, be still. Be silent, as gentle as the wings of a sleeping dove. Let soft silence descend upon us and none besmirch it.

I am weary unto the bone of these meddlesome "news" men and their nipping at my heels. As if, should I know anything of my brother's death besides that which they have reported, I would share it with them. Fools. As are the anxious men of Whitehall. The Queen herself--long may she reign!--went to far as to request a private audience and my personal assurances that Sherlock Holmes does not lie lost at the bottom of the Reichenbach Falls. Could that I assure her of such a thing. I myself wish it most heartily, but if my brother lives, he has yet to inform me of it. Weeks have gone by in ringing silence. The only silence I have been granted.

Oh, for all that a merciful Heaven may allow! Here comes a footman with _that look_ in his eye and a card upon a salver. Can I find peace nowhere in this cursed city? **_Lestrade._** Interesting. I have, of course, a passing acquaintance with the man, but why should he call upon me? My curiosity is the very devil sometimes. I indicate that he should be shown into the Strangers Room and manoeuver to my feet, weary already of his no doubt impertinent Cockney inquiries. If he hopes to find another Holmes to solve his problems he has come to the wrong man! I've no interest in mixing with crimes of the sort my brother found so fascinating.

I take care to be arranged in my armchair with an abstracted expression when he is shown in. To his credit, the man stands quietly, waiting for me to acknowledge him. At last I shake off my brown study and turn my head towards him. "Ah, Inspector... Lestrade, was it?" Best to put him in his place at once lest he be tempted to think he can sway me.

His tone, while respectful, is dry, "Indeed it is, Mr Holmes. The same it was when we last met."

Insolent. But brave. How tired I am of fawning, or worse, bright-eyed speculation. "You must forgive me," is all I say, although to be honest I feel a bit bad for snubbing him needlessly. "My mind has been haunted of late."

A gentle tone enters his voice and he drifts closer, "Certainly, Mr Holmes. I do understand. I myself have been fraught with sadness since the news came through of Mr Holmes the Younger's death." Death. Yes. That is what it is, for all they have not found his body. Yet how timidly people refer to Sherlock. 'His passing,' as if he had advanced into a senior class, rather than perishing with that devious criminal. Taking with him the last softness and familiarity in my life. "I come to extend my condolences, sir, and to let you know that if there is anything I can do--"

I interrupt him in a manner most uncivil. "Do? What, pray tell, could you do?"

He steps closer, and I can see that his eyes are kind, and keen. "Nothing, perhaps," he allows. "But if ever you need some company..." That is one thing I have plenty of, though none of it welcome. Indeed it is difficult to find time to myself, what with all the sharks circling. "I'm here, is all," he says, somewhat awkwardly. "Well...I-I suppose I should be going."

Join me, I find myself wanting to say, and wish gives birth to words, startling us both. "Join me," I repeat, gesturing to the other chair. "I'll ring for tea. Or brandy, should you wish?" He smiles, just a little, and crosses to the bell, saving me the necessity of rising, for which I am grateful, my bad leg being what it is.

"Tea would warm me nicely, Mr Holmes," says he, sitting after having rung the bell. "I've spent the day marching the pavement and my bones ache for want of some warmth."

"Perhaps some nourishment is in order," I say, trying to hide my eagerness. Strangely, for resenting his visit initially, I now do not wish to be alone. "Grainger, tea and cakes, if you please, and quite a lot of mutton sandwiches."

Lestrade regards me brightly, "You're too kind."

I wave away his words and we lapse into silence. He, remarkably, does not seem inclined to break it and I find myself relaxing. Once the trays arrive he moves forward and murmurs gently, asking how I take my tea and filling me two plates, one with sandwiches and the other with cakes. For the first time in weeks I find the silence I had been craving, although not the solitude. Strangely I find that silence shared is rather a nice affair. Aside from one or two words we sup in quiet. When naught remains but crumbs, Lestrade stands with obvious reluctance. "I should be off, but I thank you, Mr Holmes. This was the most peaceful I've felt in weeks."

"I can return the sentiment most heartily, Inspector. Thank you for stopping in."

"Anytime, sir."

I do believe he means it. But perhaps a missive sent round will ensure his return. There is much to be said for a man who adheres to the Golden Rule of Silence.


End file.
